


The Other Side

by FrangipaniFlower



Category: Homeland
Genre: F/M, Friendship/Love, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Hope, Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 04:59:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8609719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrangipaniFlower/pseuds/FrangipaniFlower
Summary: Albeit what the warning and tags say - this is a story about love and life, friendship, forgiveness and hope. It's sad but I wrote it with lots of love.Four years after finding each other again in New York, Carrie and Quinn live as a family in a happy and loving relationship. And then one morning everything changes.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this way back in May and sat on it for ages. I would not have finished it without the lovely encouragement of Laure and Leblanc. Leblanc also volunteered for the large task of editing and therefore read it multiple times. Thank you so much for your great help and support!
> 
> A personal word: This story is different from my other stories. It took me long (actually I think the longest time of all my stories) to write it but it was one of those stories I just had to write.
> 
> I didn't make any adjustments to recent spoilers.
> 
> I hope you stay with me and read it til the end.

It started with a lot of blood. In the bleak, cold weeks of January.   
  
They had spent a peaceful Christmas together, their fourth as a family. Frannie was still young enough to believe in Santa, maybe another year before she would start to ask questions. She had been so excited about her new ice skates and they had spent the week after Christmas at the cabin. It had been cold enough since late November so the ice covering the lake was thick enough to go skating.   
  
He had kept busy chopping enough wood to keep the fire going in order to warm the cabin but at nighttime when Frannie was asleep, he and Carrie had found other ways to share body heat.   
  
They returned home for the final days of their holidays. Carrie had a few more days of holiday, her school's winter term started in the second week of January. She had been tired during those days, explaining to him that the long winter and the darkness were difficult for her and perhaps she'd need to adjust her meds. Ever since that flu she had caught in November she felt tired and worn-out and the relaxing Christmas break hadn't changed that.   
  
He was worried. Yet he had no idea how worried he should have been. They knew how to fight her depressive bouts. But not what lay ahead of them. Ahead of her.   
  
He thought about taking her on a surprise trip to Florida or somewhere else sunny for a few days. Sun and light had always helped keep her depression at bay.   
  
And then, one morning, mid-January, in the first week of the new term, he woke up a few minutes before his alarm clock rang - he always got up first -  because he felt warm fluid around his cheek.   
  
He knew it was blood. He felt and smelled it. Metallic. And he panicked.   
He was relieved when he realized it was only a nosebleed. She only had a severe nosebleed, nobody had shot her dead at night while she was sleeping next to him. Ever since Pakistan that nightmare recurred, nightmares of Carrie getting shot. Two bullets, through her temple, while sitting in the backseat. But it was just a nosebleed.   
  
How wrong he was.   
  
It didn't stop. Warm washcloth, cold washcloth, head tilted back or not, it didn't stop. So much blood.   
  
Maggie couldn't help, she had an early shift. So he took her to the ER at Walter Reed, assuming they’d be back home several hours later.    
  
Frannie was dropped at her cousin's house down the road. It turned out to be a longer stay than anyone expected that moment.   
  
He was home again several hours later. Without Carrie.   
  


*********

  
She came home a week later.   
  
He often recalled those two moments like sequences of a movie. The scene when they drove away, Carrie with a fresh, but quickly colouring wash cloth in her hand, pressed against her nose, but healthy, alive. And the scene a week later, when he brought her back home. No blood this time, the same Carrie, pale and terminally ill, coming home to die. Although there was still some hope. 

But hope dies last, that's what they always say, don't they?   
  
She was wearing the same dark blue cardigan she had been wearing a week earlier. It was already too large.   
  
Acute Myeloid Leukemia.   
  
Survival rate after five years was twenty-four percent. Those were the people who had been diagnosed in time. Carrie's cancer had already metastasized into her liver.   
  


Her doctor tried surgery but it had spread too much to get it all out.   
  
They put her on chemotherapy on day three in hospital. A three day cycle, followed by a day of rest. Then she was allowed to be home for a week, scheduled for the next cycle a week later.   
  
The doctors had been shockingly clear about the goal of the treatment.   
  
They were bargaining for time, not for healing. Three months, maybe four.   
  
He wasn’t his usual self on those days, fear - not part of his usual repertoire of emotions -  overwhelmed him. He had forgotten to cancel his advisory trip to the Istanbul station and Carrie insisted that he go. It was just a few days and she was home so there was no need to arrange afternoon care and pick up for Frannie. Her scar from surgery was healing well and the nausea had finally tapered off.   
  
So he drove to the airport in the evening, in a trance. He made it until he was waiting in line at security.   
Carrie was going to die. This was real. It hit him there and nearly floored him. 

  
And he was about to spend one out of maybe twelve remaining weeks away from her.   
  
He stormed back through the security area, flashing his CIA credentials to be allowed back out, not bothering with his luggage, just back to his car, back to her.   
  
He didn't remember the drive home.   
  
It was nearly midnight when he arrived at the dark house. The realization hit him in waves: one day soon he'd come home and she wouldn’t be waiting for him. He would always remember the moment when that thought crept along his spine like a cold fatal venom and took possession of him.

  
She was already in bed, right after Frannie's bedtime she had gone to rest herself, and woke up when he wrapped himself around her.   
  
They didn't speak.   
  
His lovemaking that night was passionate, ardent - and desperate. They were supposed to create life, to feel alive in that loving embrace. 

_ How can she be so close to me and yet the parting has already begun? he asked himself. _ _  
_   
Afterwards he cried in her arms. He couldn't talk about it. Neither could she.    
  
It was nearly morning when she spoke the first words of that night, softly and close to his ear, just a whisper: "I'll be just on the other side. I'll still be here. Just on the other side. Believe me, Quinn.”

*************

They didn't give up right away.   
  
Maggie found them another specialist and Dar pulled some strings from an unmentioned past for another consult. She was put on the waiting list for a bone marrow transplant, but there was no match. Maggie wasn't a match, Quinn wasn't a match, neither were Bill, Josie, Ruby, Virgil, Max, Saul, Dar or Frannie. They had a major fight when he took Frannie to get tested because she had strictly vetoed it. He had decided to grasp for every last straw available.   
  
But for Carrie it was about moral principles.   
  
It was the worst fight they ever had.   
  
She opted for the most aggressive form of chemotherapy combined with radiation.   
  
She fought. With her usual passionate and fervent dedication.   
  
And so she made it through the summer. Six months. Then nearly eight. She got very weak but she always bounced back between her chemo cycles.   
  
They spent another week at the cabin. He took her to New York for a weekend, a jazz concert at Carnegie Hall, they always wanted to do that and never had. They spent a couple of days at the sea. She had been very tired that week but he carried her to the beach for a few hours every day and held her in his arms while they were watching the waves. Sometimes she drifted away for a few minutes and he tried to engrave the memory of how it felt to hold her into his brain.   
  
They got married that week, in a lighthouse, overlooking the ocean. No guests, just the two of them. A local fisherman was their witness. Quinn had asked him the night before.   
  
On their wedding night she made him promise to raise Frannie.   
  
It was the hardest promise he had ever given. Fuck his reliability. But, as always, he gave in. He’d called it years before: she was the hardest person in the world to say ‘no’ to.   
  
She made videos for Frannie and wrote her several letters. She told her the identity and history of her biological father. She made Quinn and Maggie swear not to give it to Frannie before she was old enough to understand, leaving it to their judgement when that would be.   
  
They set up his legal guardianship for Frannie and started the adoption process.   
  
They celebrated Frannie's ninth birthday. She was allowed to invite her whole class and Carrie insisted on baking the cake herself which was a three day project, every day a few hours, and it turned out to be huge, beautiful and delicious. Maggie helped with the decorations and games.   
  
Dar, Saul, Max, Virgil, Carrie's colleagues from school, Lockhart and his wife - they all came that evening, saying they wanted to congratulate Frannie. 

But everybody knew it was good-bye.    
  
He found Maggie silently crying in the upstairs bathroom when he went to get Carrie's painkillers.   
  
She told him the next morning that she had decided not to undergo another treatment. But he already knew, her words were just the spoken confirmation.   
  


************

  
They met a palliative care specialist. She wouldn't suffer, that Quinn had promised himself. Whatever it would take from his side, she wouldn't suffer. And nobody would ever know if worst came to worst, he still knew how to do it. She had suffered enough, through those horrible chemotherapy treatments. Dar gave him silent long stares whenever they saw each other, knowing exactly what he'd be willing to do, if necessary.    
  
The irony of fathering a child, Brody's child, who called Adal 'Uncle Dar' and loved her waffle dates with him, wasn't lost on him.   
  
A few weeks before the end she got a subcutan morphine pump and could dose herself.   
  
So they settled quietly into the routine of her last weeks.   
  
It was always a bargain between consciousness and pain. The price for consciousness was more pain, the price for less pain was less consciousness.   
  
She would have breakfast with Frannie before she dosed herself up for a few more hours of sleep. She'd be awake again then when Frannie came home. There wasn't much food left she could tolerate to eat so they had ice cream in the afternoon, lots of ice cream. Usually she was awake for two hours, on good days three, speaking with Frannie about her day, reading stories or playing board games, sometimes only watching a movie. She would then sleep a few more hours and often Frannie laid next to her, snuggling with her fragile mom.    
  
Usually she awoke after dinnertime, just in time to put Frannie to bed.   
  


Afterwards was their time, a few hours of togetherness. Most evenings she would have a bath and they would settle back in bed or sometimes, on good days, in the porch swing. They listened to music, he held her in his arms, she made him talk, there were no inhibitions anymore, they remembered their years together and the years before. It was bittersweet.   
  
When he made love to her, it was slow and gentle. He had suggested giving it up several times fearing her discomfort, especially when she got too dry during her last cycles of chemotherapy. But she laughed it off, saying it was nothing a bit lube couldn't fix and challenged him to get inventive. That night, afterward, she had whispered in his ear not to take this away from her. She had already lost so much.    
  
"Carrie, no, no. It's not that I don't want you anymore. I’m just afraid I’ll hurt you. This is new to me too," he had whispered back.   
  
"You are doing great. And, you know what they say about the body's own endorphins..."   
  


So they went on with their love making, much more careful than ever before but whenever she felt good enough. And the hour afterward was usually the best hour of the day. She was awake and relaxed and they talked and often laughed. 

It amazed him how much they laughed in those last weeks, he had always thought it would be a bleak and depressing time but quite the opposite happened. He hoped this might make it a bit easier for Frannie, who was collecting beautiful and fond memories of the last months.   
  


**********

  
They had discussed all the options early. The two of them and then with Maggie and Carrie's doctors. And finally with Frannie. They had decided to try it at home, as long as it was medically responsible and somehow graceful. She said she only wanted to go to the hospice if they felt it would be too much for Frannie. But with the increasing pain being the only symptom of the cancer invading her body and bones, it was nothing they couldn't handle at home.   
  
"And it's not like we have to worry about addiction. I won’t be around long enough for rehab.”   
  
It was sentences like this which sometimes knocked the wind out of him.   
  
The palliative care nurse had explained to them how Carrie would likely need more and more morphine to handle the pain. She got one opiate in pill form constantly, three doses a day, and she had her morphine pump to self-dose when needed. She would likely be asleep, bordering unconsciousness, when her time came, just drifting off to the other side, stopping to breathe and not coming back. Usually patients had a last good stretch of time the days before that, a final burst of energy before the end.   
  


********

  
As it was summer break he had plenty of help with Frannie. Maggie was there, of course she didn’t go to the cabin or on holiday. And Julia came with John, taking he and Frannie to daytrips to the zoo, museums or a bike-ride, just to offer the sweet girl some normality and distraction.   
  
Quinn was incredibly grateful that they had been able to reconnect. And Julia knew how to deal with loss, for her husband had died in a car crash some years ago. Her silent presence in the house helped a lot, meals which were cooked and ready when he or Frannie felt hungry, fruits cut into cubes and chilled in the fridge for Carrie, laundry washed, folded and placed back in the drawers, and a reassuring squeeze of his shoulder when he couldn't sleep during those endless hours when Carrie was asleep and he wandered through the house and garden, a helping hand for Carrie during bathroom breaks. Carrie accepted his help with everything but not with that. So it was Maggie, her nieces, now nearly young adults, or Julia who helped her with that.   
  
She and John stayed at Maggie's during their visits, just a few steps away but still allowing he and Carrie much needed privacy. 

*********

It had been a good idea to end the New York adventure after a brief year and return to Virginia where they had bought a house very close to Maggie's family.   
  
Otto Düring called once, bad news travels fast, and asked if he could see Carrie but Quinn felt very confident about turning him down. That man had messed up enough in their lives.

*********

Carrie took her condition with both abjection and grace. Once, in the very beginning, when it became clear that there was no treatment known to mankind which could make her survive, she lost it, screamed and cried and ranted. But then she settled into a silent acceptance. Maggie took her to church several times until he offered to take her too. He knew she took comfort from her faith although he didn't glean anything from it. He’d seen and done too much to believe in anything beyond the control of his own hands and the reach of his own eyes.   
  
They spoke about it one night.   
  
"You know, I got so much more than I ever expected. So how can I be angry now?"   
  
"I don’t know. I think anger be justified. Because you don't wanna go."   
  
"I don't. But apparently we have no say in this. That makes me sad, yes. But not angry. I was angry for so long - you know how it was - we couldn’t do the work we did without nurturing this anger constantly. But then in Berlin - where did that anger get me, us? I stopped being angry at your hospital bed."   
  
"You never told me about me waking up."   
  
"You were there."   
  
"Yes. But… how it was for you. Being about to marry Düring and still coming there every day. We never talked about that."   
  
"Well, maybe because you refused to speak to me for quite a while?"   
  
"Waste of time, I know now. But I wanna know."   
  
"Well, let's put Otto aside, we settled that a while ago, didn't we?"   
  
He cradled her and kissed her, thinking she was right. It had been classic Carrie, to consider marrying Otto to make him pay for his recovery and experimental treatment the agency hadn't covered. Exploit a weakness and use it, not bothering with the consequences, just focussing on one single goal. And in the twisted way their relationship had worked it had filled him with an odd alpha-male joy that she'd been willing to go such great lengths to save him - and how she had dumped Otto like a hot potato as soon as he had been awake and able to pay his own bills.   
  
He was eternally thankful to whatever higher power who had made him regain consciousness before the knots had been tied.

  
"It was, in a way, quite fun."   
  
"Fun?"   
  
"You drifted in and out for weeks."   
  
"I know. But how's that entertaining?"   
  
He knew now she had been with him every day for a stolen hour or two after she had had him transferred to New York. He even thought he remembered her sitting there sometimes when he had opened his eyes the first few times.   
  
"That wasn't entertaining. That was fricking scary. You took your time. I was almost running out of flimsy excuses to further delay the marriage. And my 'let's wait until after the wedding' didn't really convince Otto. By the way, did I ever tell you that your first words were 'what the fuck are you doing here?'   
  
"Oh, charming."   
  
“Yeah. But I knew then you couldn't be too fucked up. And then you’d roll your eyes back and drift off again into oblivion, not caring whether you’d come back for another week. At least not when I was around. Funny, the nurses said you were pretty talkative at times."   
  
"I still have problems believing that."   
  
"Oh, I was fucking jealous. But you came round. Finally. Two days before..."   
  
"Two days before your wedding. Plenty of time, I'd say. I’m known for my punctuality. Always was."   
  
"You had no idea where you were."   
  
"Well, how? You basically kidnapped me and hauled me, unconscious, to New York."   
  
"I had to be there. So you had to be there. And it was the best available treatment."   
  
"But what exactly made you cancel your wedding with Otto? You thought you'd never be able to settle those bills. Why suddenly cancel that arrangement?"   
  
They had never really spoken about the early days of their relationship, it had just happened, like they were just meant to be. And they were. He knew that now, so it hadn't mattered. Otto had been a nuisance but one he had been able to handle. They had just settled in their new life, first in New York during the crazy months after the election. Carrie did a short and horrible stint as a presidential advisor while he underwent rehab. And then they moved back to the greater D.C. area. He started a job working with the Director of Support and was put in charge of preparing operations on his old turf by using his vast knowledge of the area and his network of assets, but with only limited travel required. And Carrie had decided to cut her ties to politics and the agency for good and had returned to teaching. They were great years. Three years, five months, seventeen days after New York, until the nosebleed.   
  
"The day you started to speak to me again I had my last fitting for my wedding gown. I went there directly from the hospital. You were a shithead for sending me away, saying you didn't wanna see me until you were better. So I stood there on that stool, in that ridiculously expensive dress, glass of bubbly in my hand, the shop assistant pinching needles in my waist and thought about our possible next conversation. Whenever that would be. Maybe never. Or a few weeks later. And I thought how I'd say something like, ‘I’m glad that you’re better and I married Otto, by the way.’ And you'd ask why. And I'd say, ‘people marry when they love each other.’ And you'd laugh and say something like, 'Cut the crap, Carrie. Why?' Or I'd say that I married him to have the funds to pay your bills. And you'd probably kill me right away because you would have been so angry. Or you'd kick me out, tell me you'd never want to see me again. That you were willing to sacrifice your life to prevent me from making crap choices again. So I asked them to get me out of that dress, told them I don't need it, and..."   
  
He knew the rest. She'd gotten Frannie from the apartment, had taken the nanny and Frannie to a hotel and called Otto and cancelled the wedding. Dar had appeared in his hospital room several days later again and had come back two or three times a week then. Quinn had only learnt about the Otto-mess when Dar had told him, who had heard it through some dubious connections.   
  
"I knew whatever mess I was in, it couldn't be worse than making the wrong choice again. And I knew you'd help me to settle things somehow. Even if we just were friends, you'd have helped me."   
  
"And so you were back."   
  
"Bankrupt, with Otto on my heels, but back where I belong… only you didn't want to see me."   
  
"But you still came back. Every other day, 5 pm. I always waited for you."   
  
"You did a great job not letting your anticipation and joy to shine through."   
  
"I know. But you know, looking back, I think I enjoyed that for once it was you fighting for me, and you always came back."   
  
It had been Dar who turned his attitude around, telling him that it was Carrie paying for his bills, with Otto bad-mouthing behind her back, trying to destroy her career and every newly built professional relationship. He had had someone look into her bank account.   
  
Quinn had confronted her during her next visit, it was outrageous that she hadn't told him before. He had been stunned and dumbstruck when she had yelled back that he was an asshole for spying behind her back and that he was not the only one who loved someone while having serious communication issues. And then she had stormed out of the room, without coming back.   
  
He had waited. Two days, three days, four. She hadn't come back. So he had used those days to deal with his bills and health insurance - no fun at all -  and on day four had transferred himself to what was called 'temporary outpatient status' - basically he had just left the clinic without letting anyone know, using Dar's guilty conscience to find out where she now lived, and had shown up on her doorstep that night. He had told her how he wanted them to settle the financial stuff first because he couldn't kiss a woman who had paid for his tube feeding and catheter. But Carrie had quipped, "You know what they say, ‘for better and for worse.’ So I guess you really owe me the better times now." And had kissed him and dragged him towards her bed, muttering, "Better use your chance now, Peter Quinn, who knows what happens next. We really should get to the bottom of things when we're on the same page for once." And he'd thought how she was probably right. Not that he had needed much convincing in the first place.   
  
And it had been settled then. He'd rented them a nicer apartment closer to the clinic a week later, officially an outpatient by then, had moved in with her and Franny, and they had never spoken about it again. It had just felt like they finally were where they were meant to be.   
  
********************   
  
She had made a list. The things she still wanted to do. And she asked him and Frannie to add what they wanted to do with her. And to make a list with things they wanted to do afterwards, without her.   
  
Her list wasn't that long and was a sharp reminder of how they were coming closer to the end every day. The jazz concert, the ocean, Frannie's birthday, another Christmas - although they both knew how that was out of reach -  buying a dog for Frannie so she'd know the dog before she left. The videos for Frannie. Dying at home, in their bed, with him at her side.   
  
"I promise to try not to make it too messy," she said as if he would ever consider not granting her that wish.   
  
Getting married had been on his list. Which he only told her when they arrived and he proposed. On his knee, with a ring.   
  
The afterwards-list was hard though because it required a will to carry on he could not yet envision. He knew what he had promised but he just didn't know how he'd ever be able to carry on.   
  
"But that's what that list is about,” she explained to him one night in bed, in one of those precious hours afterwards. "You start with small, normal tasks, only they will seem unbearable, like going for ice cream or to the zoo. And after you've done a few of these you move on to bigger things like going for a camping weekend or taking Frannie to the cabin for a summer and teaching her to fish. And then you'll need some really big ones like her high school graduation or taking her to Europe to see all those old buildings you love and the museums. And some really long term stuff, maybe walking her down the aisle one day. It's like a contract with yourself, to bind you here, because you can't leave before each and every box is ticked."   
  
He was stunned at the amount of thought she'd apparently put into this.   
  
"How did you come up with this? Sounds like an idea from one of my post Berlin shrinks."   
  
"I read about it once. It's what I did when you left for Syria."   
  
She'd never told him before.   
  
"What was on that list?"   
  
"Some of what I just told you. Although it wasn't a neat list but a large mind map."   
  
"Of course," remembering her famous pin boards.   
  
"It got me through those first weeks and months."   
  
So he worked on that list, alone and with Frannie, knowing perfectly well what that did to him. Because each and every entry on that fucking list was affirming life. Writing ‘walk Frannie down the aisle’ was a promise, because without him Frannie would be without a loving parent on her wedding day. So Carrie made him write one hundred and fifty entries which would keep him and bind him to his promise for at least twenty years.   
  
He cried, somewhere between grief, frustration and amusement when he realized that this was exactly why she wanted him to write that list. Affirming life.   
  
At least she had the decency to look sheepish - but what had he been expecting? It was Carrie after all.   
  


******************

  
One morning, Julia and Maggie had left with all the kids for a swim and would not return before the afternoon, and Carrie asked him to bring her to the porch. He knew she had a set agenda right away because her face, even washed out and pale, still gave her away each and every time. So he decided to go for it right away, settling with her in the swing after going back in to get some fruit and ice tea.   
  
"Spit it out."   
  
"What are you talking about?" nearly perfectly innocent. Nearly.   
  
"You're up to something, so just spit it out."   
  
"Fuck, it really was time to leave being a spy behind me if I'm that easy to read these days."    
  
They often made that joke, both knowing that she had always been in a class of her own in manipulating assets.   
  
"Fine. There's something I wanna talk about. And I know you'll be mad."    
  
He doubted it but the years with her had taught him to just wait for her to say it.   
  
"I think your list is missing an entry."   
  
"Which is? It already has entries till 2040 and my retirement,” he tried to keep it light, that list was a touchy subject at least for him.   
  
"You shouldn't be alone."   
  
One sentence and his walls tumbled, he couldn't even stay there, though… didn't think at all, just felt a sudden anger rising and taking over. Anger at her and at fate’s twisted sense of humour for giving all he ever could've asked for and even more, only to take it away from him when he was starting to get used to it. Taking nothing for granted - he never did that and neither did she. There'd been too much pain, destruction, near misses and complete misses, delay and death on their journey for them to take anything good and stable for granted. But he'd gotten used to it, had started to trust life and trust that there might be more for him than just despair and darkness. And now she was fucking going to die, and the enemy wasn't even one he could take out in return, make suffer and die several deaths, it was invisible, impalpable. The only opponent he had to declare utter defeat to.   
  
"Fuck, Carrie, we're not going to have that talk. We're not. You're not going to tell me you’ll write my match.com profile for me, ‘widowed ex assassin, still muddling in shady waters for a living, but overall in good shape, young daughter, preloved and now heart-broken but sadly damned to be sticking around, and to be passed on in capable hands.’ What the fuck are you thinking? Being sick doesn't give you… you know what? I need a minute. Or five," he felt the bitter bile rising in his throat and for the first time in years he felt so frustrated and angry with her that the urge to slap some sense into her wasn't that distant.   
  
Instead he grabbed a glass with icetea and smashed it against the wooden shed’s planks in the backyard where it flew into pieces. Which was exactly how he felt.   
  
He stormed back into the house for his keys and out through the front door before she could answer, jumping into his car and racing away with screeching tires.   
  
He was down the road and halfway to the highway when he noticed his cheeks were wet. Which made him even more… angry, helpless, desperate, whatever. And there was only one person he could turn to to figure it out anyway - Carrie. Plus, he knew she probably would not go back in the house on her own anyway, she needed help and it was a pretty shitty thing to let her sit there without even a fucking phone.   
  
So he returned a mere twenty minutes later, dark eyes, jaw clenched - she hadn't seen that version of him for quite some time. That, and the red-rimmed eyes.   
  
"Quinn. Will you hear me out?"   
  
"No."   
  
Looming in front of the swing he looked down at her, she was so fragile and she'd cried too, and it was beyond what he could bear.   
  
So he went down on his knees, scooped her up and carried her back upstairs, muttering a choked, "I'm sorry for leaving you alone," into her hair.   
  
  


It had been a while and it would be the last time their love making was rough and demanding, a desperate fight for survival followed by merciful oblivion. It was an unequal fight yet she was relieved that, for once, he put taking before giving, consuming her as he drove into her body, as if he were desperately trying to fill her with himself and life. As if he would conquer her if he could not conquer her condition. 

She'd always enjoyed their rougher bouts and it had been one of the early tolls of her illness, he just didn't go there anymore, said he couldn't. She knew it was probably their last time, like this, and it was as exactly as it should have been for one of their final couplings. She felt aware and satisfied, even in her exhaustion - and she knew it was one of the many farewells ahead of them. He came round after he collapsed on her, burying what was left of her under his bulk, her breathing ragged next to his ear and her hand clenched into his shoulder.   
  


"God, Carrie, did I hurt you? I'm… I shouldn't..." and he rolled to his side, freeing her from his weight and the sadness and sorrow in his voice broke her heart. She was too exhausted to have that conversation now so she just rolled over for a kiss and fell asleep, uttering, "it's okay, more than okay," before drifting away.   
  
When she woke up again they both knew it was safe to talk.   
  
"I took the wrong approach. Hear me out, please?"   
  
"Do I have to? Is there a choice?" She could make him listen but she couldn't make him like the topic.   
  
"I’m not saying I want you to find someone else. Certainly not now."   
  
"Well, you were pretty clear."   
  
"No. You didn’t hear me out.. This isn't easy for me either. But just take a second. If it was you who was dying, what would you want for me? A life full of misery and grief?"   
  
"No. Of course not."   
  
"See. I just wanted you to know that if there ever might be anyone else… you should consider it. I trust you. You’ll make a good choice… for Frannie too," she was crying now, "and if that should ever happen I don't want you to think I wouldn't approve. I don't want you not to choose life and maybe love because you think I would disapprove. That's what I wanted you to know. I want you to give happiness a chance if there's ever a situation when you think, maybe... And I phrased it wrongly. I'm sorry."   
  
"God, Carrie..." he breathed, incredulous about the conversation they were having, but there was no rulebook, just navigating blindly. "I can't believe… I can't even think about you not being here anymore, let alone what will happen the day after you… and the week, and the month and the year." She held him tight, breathing in deeply herself as he continued, "and how would I ever be able to feel anything like that ever again? I expected to be alone all my life, that was a choice I made, and then I met you. And we had it all, for four years we had it all. But I'll never have that again. I don't even want it. Because it is you and me. And it'll always be you and me. You need me to stay for Frannie and I get that. It's the right thing. And I'll cope, somehow I'll cope, and will always cherish what we had, and Frannie and I will find a way. But I won't ever have that with anyone else. And I don’t ever wanna talk about it again."   
  
And with that the matter was settled, never to be touched again in the few remaining weeks.

  
  
********************   
  
As for Frannie, he wasn't sure how she felt. The hospital had directed them to a children's bereavement group where she went several times but then said she didn't want to go any more because her mom was still alive. Maybe they'd turn up there again later, when the time came.   
  
She didn't speak a lot about the upcoming loss or the rapid downward spiral her mom was going through.    
  
But it had a massive impact on her.   
  
Some days she was very clingy with Carrie or with him, didn't want to leave the house for excursions that Julia or Maggie offered. Other days they barely saw her as she obviously preferred the normality of Maggie's busy household over the calmness of their own home.   
  
Julia had let them know when Frannie had asked John how it had felt when his dad had died. Quinn had never claimed that role in the boy's life, he was Quinn to both kids, although Frannie sometimes referred to him as 'my dad' when talking about him.    
  
One afternoon he heard Frannie and Carrie's voices from the bedroom. Frannie had gone upstairs earlier with some ice cream and he'd expected to find them watching a movie. But they weren't.   
  
"When will you leave, Mommy?"   
  
"I don't know. I'll try to stay as long as I can."   
  
"But you will leave?"   
  
"Yes. I will have to leave."   
  
"Before school starts, after summer?"   
  
"I think so."   
  
The serene calmness of that sentence floored him and it took him a second to steady his breath again. It was the first time ever that one of them put a date on it. And hearing Carrie say it made it more real than anything before.   
  
"There won't be a miracle? Like I promise I'll never ever again ask for anything, ever in my life, and you can stay?"   
  
He heard what it took from Carrie to answer.   
  
"No, sweetie. There won't be a miracle. No matter what we might be willing to give. That's not how it works. And I don't have to leave because you or I or Quinn did anything wrong. It's just… bad luck. There's nothing we could have done for a different outcome."   
  
"I don't want you to die, Mommy."   
  
Quinn stood still in the small hallway connecting their bedroom with the bathroom and Frannie's room. He'd been sorting laundry back into the closet and as badly as he'd initially felt about eavesdropping - now he was kind of stuck, not at all capable of finishing his task or walking away. All he could do was slide down to the floor and sit there and wait, carefully monitoring his breath and the waves of nausea and grief sweeping over him, desperate not to break the moment between mother and daughter.   
  
"I don't wanna die either. But that's not a choice we make."   
  
"Where will you be then?"   
  
"I think of it like being on the other side of a door or thick glass. Remember that mirror Quinn showed you at his work, one side a mirror, the other side a window? I think I still can see you but I won't be around anymore. You won't see me. But I hope you'll know I'm always there."   
  
"So I don't have to go to the cemetery for you to see me?"   
  
"No. You don't have to. I believe I'll see you everywhere."   
  
"Will Quinn die as well?"   
  
"Not for a very long time. Everybody dies some day. But Quinn’s not gonna die for a long time."   
  
"How do you know?"   
  
"Because I know. I'll tell you a secret. Do you remember when we visited Quinn in the hospital in New York?"   
  
"When he was eating apple sauce? Only applesauce, whenever we came."   
  
Quinn remembered that well, too well. Applesauce and all kinds of mashed purees.   
  
"Yeah, when he was eating apple sauce. He was very sick then. He nearly died then. But you and I, we saved him. He has a knack for survival."   
  
"Was he on the other side of that mirror?"   
  
"We talk a lot about the other side, Quinn and I. So he knows what I believe. It’s a good place.”

  
"Will you see Grandpa?"   
  
"I hope so."   
  
"Maybe he'll wait for you at the entrance?"   
  
"Maybe he will. Wouldn't that be nice? Hey, honey, come a bit closer, okay? Whatever happens, I want you to know this: You are the best thing that ever happened to me. I'm the happiest mom in the world that I have you. And I'll always love you wherever I go."   
  
There was silence then, just the rustling of the sheets. He got up and peaked through the door left ajar, seeing them snuggled into each other. Carrie caught his gaze and he saw her face was wet. He softly closed the door and left them alone.

  
  
**********************   
  
As the palliative care nurse had predicted there was a stretch of pretty good days right before the end.   
  
They both knew and it was sacred time.   
  
Carrie was able to go and pick up Frannie's brown labrador with them. She hadn't left the house for more than three weeks so this was an unexpected gift for Frannie. They'd decided to pick him up when he was housetrained and the breeder gave them notice with a call one morning. They even had ice cream on the way and Carrie left the car to meet the dog in the garden with Frannie. Following an instant impulse he took a quick photo of the two and the brown furry bundle. 

It was their last photograph.   
  
Frannie and the dog were an item right away and Carrie was happy that she was able to witness those precious moments.   
  
"You are the love of my life, you know," she said one of these nights.   
  
He laughed, of course he knew, but they’d never talked about it. There was no need, never had been.   
  
"Why are you saying this?"   
  
"I thought it might be nice to say it once. I never thought I might have someone to say it to or let alone be capable of feeling that way. And now it is like this. For years. So I wanted to say it."

  
  
*******************   
  
Frannie wasn't home when it happened. They were alone together.    
  
After those last good days she'd suddenly become very weak and tired. She'd said goodbye to her sister. Frannie and her puppy moved to Maggie's place for a night or two. The nurse came and told them what they already knew. A day, maybe two or three.    
  
The morphine would slow down her breathing and at some point, probably asleep, she would just stop. It wouldn't be painful. It would be silent and graceful.    
  
She slept most of the day and then she would wake for about an hour or two. They didn't talk, he just held her and knew it would be that night. There was nothing left to say. There was a lifetime of unlived dreams, wants and needs unspoken, forever unfulfilled.   
  
Day turned into dusk and at nightfall she was asleep. He noticed her breathing getting shallow and her sleep getting… different. But she was still there.   
  
She woke up once for a few moments, her eyes searching his, and he saw the knowledge in her eyes.   
  
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "You came back and now I’m leaving."   
  
"Don't be, Carrie, don't be. I had a reason to come back and I don't have any regrets. Not a single second."   
  
"I will just be on the other side, right?"   
  
"Yeah. That's what it's like. Carrie… if it’s time… you can go."   
  
"I know."   
  
These were the last words they spoke. It was a last moment of lucidity and he was grateful for it.   
  
She softly squeezed his hand several times over the next hours and when she let a painful moan in her state between sleep and leaving, he pressed the remote of the morphine pump twice. Nobody would ever know. And this was the last thing he could do for her, allow her to go without physical pain.   
  
Her breathing became slow and irregular but time wasn't existing anymore. Seconds, minutes, hours elongated and shrivelled.   
  
At some point he whispered, "I love you," and she took a deeper breath, confirmation that she still could hear him.   
  
Sometimes he drifted off too, just for a few seconds or minutes. When he woke up at about two a.m. from one of those short naps he knew she'd stopped breathing a few minutes before. He'd felt and noticed it. And it was very true to Carrie that she'd waited until he had dozed off.    
  
She was still there, with him, and he didn't move and didn't get up. There was no rush.   
  
He stayed with her until seven. Until he felt she had left, until he could no longer feel her presence in the room. She was gone.   
  
He heard the birds awakening at dawn. Another sunrise. Another day. Cars of the first neighbours leaving to work. Newspapers delivered.    
  
Another day.    
  
The first without her.   
  
A shower. Getting dressed.    
  
She looked peaceful. A faint smile.   
  
He kissed her forehead and went downstairs.   
  
Maggie came in as he stood in front of the coffee machine, unable to press the button. Far too mundane, he just couldn't.   
  
Of course Maggie knew. She said she'd woken up around two and had known right away. Of course she had.   
  
She pressed the button for him.   
  
When she came back downstairs her eyes were red but she was calm.   
  
"She left with a smile."   
  
"She did."   
  
"That's beautiful. So sad. And so beautiful."   
  
He couldn't answer.   
  
"Did she fight it?"   
  
"No. She just drifted off. No pain. She knew when it was time. We spoke… a moment."   
  
He knew Maggie knew when he saw her questioning glance and understanding nod.   
  
"That's… God, Quinn, I just don't have words."   
  
"No."   
  
She stepped towards him as if to hug him but he couldn't. She read it in his face and she stopped halfway.   
  
"Want me to change her clothes?"   
  
"No. I'll do that."   
  
"Frannie..."   
  
"Is she awake?"   
  
"Not yet."   
  
"Call me when she wakes up. I'll come over and tell her. Nobody else," and after a beat, "please."   
  
He went back upstairs with a cup of coffee. Like nearly every morning in those years since they'd moved here. Usually they shared that cup while she was still in bed as he sat at the edge on her side. It was their ritual to start the day.   
  
Now he drank half of it alone. It was bitter.   
  
He didn't drink the other half.   
  
Maggie was right, she looked peaceful. That, he had been able to give her.   
  
He sat there for about an hour and then took a brush to sort her hair. Then he dressed her, a simple soft jersey dress with navy and white stripes. She'd been wearing that at the beach, the day after their wedding.   
  
Maggie called at nine.   
  
The short walk to that house had never been longer.   
  
He felt strangely disconnected to… everything… neighbours were greeting, a lawn mower made an screaming sound, Frannie was outside with the dog, she'd named him Henry and they had an appointment for his vaccination with the vet this week but he couldn't remember the day and would probably cancel it anyway but it needed to be done within a reasonable time span and now he had to tell Frannie that her mom had died and couldn't stop thinking about that vet appointment and it was just a few more steps, she hadn't seen him yet, he heard her gently talking to the puppy about doing his weewee and her life would always be a before and a after and he'd do everything, literally everything to protect her from what he had to do now. He stopped, watching his daughter - the adoption was real and legal, but he'd felt that way long before the papers had been signed - and the dog under the walnut tree, red curls before green leafs, an image burned into his brain forever.   
  
It would be autumn soon. Shorter days, cooler nights. How could he think about that now?   
  
And then she raised her head and turned.   
  
She saw him and she knew. And still he saw that spark of a child's innocent hope.   
  
"Frannie. C'mere."   
  
He saw her eyes tearing up, saw her mouth forming the word 'mommy' but didn't hear her say it. She choked on it, a moment frozen between the before and the after, saw realization trickling in, saw how something break in her eyes, damned fate and the God who allowed this to happen, knowing how pathetic this was, and how utterly senseless. And then he had her. Enveloped in his arms as if he could prevent her from falling apart.   
  
She sobbed and her cries broke what was left of his heart.   
  
This was real.   
  
He had known and had time to prepare himself for that moment for months and still the brutality knocked it out of him.   
  
And it wasn't even his own grief. He wasn't there yet. It was Frannie. She'd lost her mother. Had never known her biological father. And he was the the parent fucking fate had in store for her.   
  
And he wouldn't fuck it up. There was no way he could allow himself to not help her to survive this and to grow into a loving and caring and happy woman. He just couldn't fuck this one up.   
  
He should bring her inside. But it felt as if loosening his grip around her might allow her to break into thousands of pieces which nobody might be able to piece back again.   
  
The dog, he really should stop thinking about the dog, but the dog licked Frannie's hand and she melted down to the lawn, wrapped herself around the puppy and cried into his fluffy fur.   
  
"Sweet pea, c'mon, let me bring you inside. Wanna go home or to Aunt Maggie’s?"   
  
"Is Mommy still at home?"   
  
He contemplated his answer for a long while but went for honesty.   
  
"She is. She fell asleep and didn't wake up. She's not in pain anymore and she wasn't afraid."   
  
"Were you there?"   
  
"I was. I was with her."   
  
She looked up to him and it struck him how alone they were in this. There was no guide how to navigate through this.    
  
"I wanna to go to Aunt Maggie. But maybe… can I see her later? And say goodbye?"   
  
"If you really want that you can. But we don't need to decide that now."   
  
He scooped her up and carried her inside, Henry following them, Maggie was waiting for them behind the front door.   
  
The sight of her aunt made Frannie tear up again and Quinn settled her on the couch where Maggie sat with her and pulled her close.   
  
Bill came from the kitchen and handed him a cup of coffee, wordlessly clapping his shoulder and biting his lower lip.   
  
He took the cup and sat down in the backyard, feeling exhausted, agitated and numb at the same time.   
  
So he went back in, finding Frannie where he'd left her, now silently crying in Maggie's lap.   
  
When she saw him she sat up.   
  
"I wanna go home. Please."   
  
"Take her. Want me to make the necessary calls?" Maggie offered.   
  
"Yes. Thank you. But...Maggie, there's no need for rush now. Maybe in a few hours. We might need some time. Just Frannie and me."   
  
When Frannie asked him again if she could see Carrie he took her - hoping he wasn't making a major mistake.   
  
She tiptoed into the room and he followed right behind her, his hand on Frannie's shoulder. Frannie stopped at the edge of the bed and he gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. Frannie went down on her knees and carefully touched Carrie’s cheek with her fingertips. Quinn had to swallow back tears. This was about Frannie. Her little hand was now on her mom’s cheek and then she turned her head to look at him.   
  
"She smiled a little."   
  
"Yeah."   
  
"But now she's gone."   
  
"She is."   
  
"You think she can see us?"   
  
"That's what she thinks."   
  
How could he say 'no'?   
  
"Bye, Mommy, I miss you. I love you."

She caressed Carrie’s cheek once more and then got up again, snuggling herself into his arms.

  
He brought her back downstairs and she curled up on the couch.   
  
When he asked if she had breakfast she started to cry again.   
  
"No… But... I am hungry… but Mommy died… and how can I feel hungry now...?"   
  
"God, Frannie…" he was searching for the right words, "this is… I know it is difficult. But the last thing your mom would want would be you not eating. You and I will cry a lot and feel sad, and some day we'll laugh again, maybe even today or tomorrow when Henry knocks his bowl against the cupboard because he's hungry, and maybe we'll think 'how can we laugh on a day like this?' but we'll eat and drink and sleep, or watch a movie or read a book. We won't stop doing any of these things. You think your mommy wouldn't want me to feed you when you're hungry?"   
  
"No."   
  
"See? What do you want?"   
  
They had cereal and orange juice, and he forced himself to shove it down his throat.   
  
Frannie went to her room afterwards and he sat in the living room, defeated and empty and raw, wishing he'd never have to get up again.   
  
But then… the dog… clever Carrie. Three times a day, at least.   
  


*************

  
Julia and John came in the afternoon but he didn't speak to them, he just sat behind the closed door of Carrie's and his bedroom, knowing it wouldn't be long now til the undertaker arrived.   
  
But he heard Julia and John’s voices from Frannie's room and Frannie crying.   
  
Carrie was taken away in the early evening. The neighbors knew now. He let Julia and Maggie handle whatever was to be handled.   
  
Julia knocked against the closed door several times but he didn't answer. What was there left to say?   
  
But he opened it when it was Frannie.   
  
"Can I have Mommy's pillow?" she asked, already ready for bed.   
  
Of course she could have that and of course he somehow managed to tell her goodnight and walk her to her room and tuck her in and sit with her until she slept.   
  
And then he crawled into bed himself, Carrie’s scent still lingering, her meds at the nightstand, her wedding ring next to them and the photo of Frannie and him, taken during their first summer together.   
  
He couldn't even cry.    
  
The house calmed down, he heard someone taking the dog out at around eleven, Jules probably.   
  
About an hour later he went downstairs and grabbed a beer and sat outside, waiting for the first 24 hours without Carrie to end.   
  
_ How am I supposed to do this?  _ _  
_   
*********************************   
  
They buried her next to her father.   
  
Same church.   
  
It had been another life, that day when he had been waiting for her here after Frank's funeral.    
  
Saul did the eulogy. He didn't really listen. He just held Frannie's hand and wondered what Carrie would think about that speech.   
  
Then Andrew Lockhart got up, apologized for speaking without prior planning and said he just wanted to add a few words.   
  
"Carrie was intense in everything she did. When I first met her I thought she's an impossible person. Loud, disrespectful, pushy, unbalanced. And I've never been so wrong in my life.   
And I've never been more glad for being so wrong. I even apologized and my wife as well as a few others here know what a rare occurrence that is. I was wrong because Carrie wasn't any of these things. She was intense, in everything she did. I never saw her half-hearted about anything. She was a bright spirit, a kind-hearted person, she cared deeply for those she loved, she never hesitated to go to extraordinary lengths to keep those she felt responsible for safe, she loved fiercely and whatever she did, she did it with dedication  and passion. Her death isn't fair. It's just not fu..., ehm, just not fair... It wasn't her turn. It should not have been her turn for quite a while. She was Frannie's mom, Peter Quinn's partner and wife, your sister, aunt, sister in law, friend and colleague, and I know you all have plenty of good memories of her - and maybe a few memories of times when she really gave you a hard time - but she'd say to me now 'Andrew’ - and then a word starting with 'f' - ‘will you ever finish? You won't get a gold star for that, so it's time for tactical surrender.' And that's how I will remember her, a woman with a great heart and great sense of humor who knew how to kick ass. Joyce Grenfell, an Irish writer and singer wrote this:   
  
If I should die before the rest of you,   
Break not a flower nor inscribe a stone.   
Nor, when I’m gone, speak in a Sunday voice,   
But be the usual selves that I have known.   
Weep if you must,   
Parting is hell.   
But life goes on,   
So… sing as well.   
  
And now I'll indeed surrender. Because I want to save you from seeing an old man weep.   
  
I am sorry."   
  
Quinn made it through the day. No more. No less. People came and talked to him. Hugged him. Offered support. Even Dar. God, even Dar hugged him with moist eyes.   
  
Rob gave him a rough hug at some point, muttering, "life's a fucking bitch."   
  
He'd sign onto that.   
  


*******************

  
That night was the first time he could cry. Or more to the point, did cry and couldn't do anything about it, let alone stop it.   
  
Her scent was fading. He wondered if the day would come where he'd lose the ability to remember how she'd felt and smelt and looked and tasted. How her voice sounded and her laughter. And the finality of her absence hit him with that thought and crushed him with its simple brutality.   
  
There was no comfort. There just wasn't.   
  


***************

  
He managed to keep it together during day time. To be there for Frannie. To take her and Henry to the vet. People didn't stop dropping off food. Julia was still around. But it all felt as though it were happening outside of his bell jar. He saw them, he heard them but he felt like he was under water.   
  
The nights were either horrible, or he dreamt of her. Those were good nights...except waking up and returning to reality floored him each and every time.   
  
He wished he could just end it too.    
  
But he had promised her not to.

  
  
*****************   
  
Autumn came and went. Winter arrived.

  
He had returned to work after a couple of weeks, wondering how he'd ever thought he'd make a difference there.   
  
They'd started to work on their list, he and Frannie.   
  
Clever Carrie. It was a long list.   
  
Going to the zoo had been good. Although Frannie had cried at night because she had missed her so much.   
  
Christmas was tough. They left Maggie's house early, before lunch, it didn't feel bearable to celebrate. He felt sorry for Maggie who was clearly struggling as well but he sometimes didn't even know how to find the strength to be there for Frannie. He couldn't even pretend to  handle any more grief.   
  
He and Frannie spent the rest of the day on the couch, just interrupted by two walks with Henry, watching Star Trek movies and eating popcorn and icecream.   
  
"Mommy would have liked that," Frannie said with a shy smile before she went to bed.   
  
"Yeah, she would."  _ Although she'd kick my ass for the choice of movies. _ _  
_   
It was the only night ever in that first year that he drank himself into a stupor. Because it was either that or… he didn't dare to explore the 'or' any further.   
  
And so they went on. Having bad days, a lot actually, and some good.   
  
Frannie was more quiet than before but he noticed her smile returning. And she cried less in her sleep. Sometimes she still came to his bed during the night. But more and more she slept through the night.   
  


He himself was still on the way down, he knew that.   
  
There were nights when he thought the pain would tear him apart, when missing her was a physically palpable screaming wound. Other nights he was just numb, ticking off minutes and hours just to get through another day and week and month.   
  
How had he been convinced he'd hit rock bottom in Berlin? Ridiculous.   
  
He put her meds and toiletries away after six months and it felt like a betrayal. So he put them back out.    
  
Julia and Maggie wanted him to talk about Carrie and his loss. But that wouldn't bring her back so what was the point?   
  
They went to the cabin for Frannie's Easter break and John came along. Whenever he worried if Frannie would cope, thinking of John gave him hope. His father had died and he wasn't that fucked up, was he?   
  
He was glad for Frannie that through some odd turn of events she ended up with a brother who had been through what she was struggling with now.   
  
The two kids’ closeness gave him much needed time alone. Being a single parent in a still-demanding job was difficult at the best of times and the irony that he, of all people, was now struggling with it wasn't lost on him.   
  
So he went for long hikes, knowing Frannie was safe with John.   
  
The cabin had been the sacred memory of Carrie's childhood. And now Frannie grew attached to the place. Full circle.   
  
And it still hurt so much. Every day. Every night.    
  
With her he'd lost the ability to compartmentalize and put things into an emotional freezer.   
  
But back in their home he managed to clean the shelves and wardrobe from her stuff at the beginning of summer.   
  
He thought about selling the house and moving somewhere else but what was the point? He wouldn't miss her less just because the wall had another colour.

*****************   
  
After a year he noticed how people spoke less and less about her and expected him to move on. Moving on to what?   
  
But, indeed, he noticed a change too. He felt less raw. But he'd never stop missing her.   
  
Would he make different choices if he had the chance? Choosing to die at the bottom of that chamber instead of clinging to that last shred of hope? Fighting his way back through the haze because he could hear her voice? Would he do that again, knowing the outcome some years later? He would.    
  
Frannie went to a camp that summer for the first time. Just for a week, together with John, but he felt very proud of her.   
  
And when he drove back to pick her up he noticed how antsy he was because he had missed her and was looking forward to going with her to the cabin.   
  
The dog had missed her too.   
  
John would come with them again.   
  
Julia had called him twice that week, and he knew she wanted to check on him. So did Maggie who came over with food nearly every day.   
  
As if starving was the method of suicide he'd choose.   
  
Yesterday he held her back before she left.   
  
"I'm not gonna kill myself, Maggie. I'd never do that to Frannie."   
  
Maggie had teared up instantly.   
  
"I know it is hard. But I… you… well, I guess you know that you should look after yourself too, don't you?"   
  
"I do. I'm just not good at it. But you won't find me here one morning with a bullet through my head."   
  
"Did you consider that?"   
  
"Well, Carrie made me promise. So that was never an option. Is that enough for an answer?"   
  
He'd always been reliable.   
  


Frannie was waiting for him at camp. She jumped into his arms, circling his neck with her own and exclaimed, “Daddy!” It was the first time he noticed she called him that. And he noticed feeling happy.

  
Frannie was a little chatterbox on the way back. Obviously the camp had been good for her yet John was unusually silent.   
  
Two days later, when Frannie was already in bed and the two of them sat outside at the cabin's lake his now fourteen year old son shyly confessed to being in love and having kissed a girl. She was from Bethesda and he asked if he could invite her over when they were back home.   
  
_ When had John started to call their house his home, how come he had missed that? _   
  
He saw a lot of John that summer and the following weeks.   
  
And when the girl broke up three months later he suddenly had to deal with teenage heartbreak.

  
  


****************

  
A year later he took Frannie and John to Europe for the summer. He had volunteered for an advisory trip to Turkey and so they started their trip in Istanbul. Frannie had spent a week in Philly while he was working in Istanbul and the kids flew alone for the first time. John had grown quite a lot over the last year and he was surprised when he noticed himself in the now tall and slender boy. But he had Julia's eyes.   
  
They went to Italy from there, seeing Rome and Florence and spending a week at the beach. From there they took a night train to Paris. Frannie had asked him if they could go to Berlin. She wanted to see where she'd lived with Carrie and he couldn't say no. As the night train had been a great way to travel and they still had time, they took another nightly journey to Prague. He'd never been there before and it was there when he noticed that he was actually enjoying himself.   
  
They had a flight out of London and spent a few days there too.

******************

  
  
That year they spent Christmas in Philadelphia. Julia came to his room Christmas Night saying it wasn't a night to spend alone.   
  
And to his own surprise he didn't say no.    
  
Julia left afterwards, just after she'd whispered, "please, don't feel bad about it. It won't change a thing."   
  
Still, he laid awake for most of the night.    
  
Carrie had died 2.5 years ago and even if his grief wasn't that raw open wound anymore he still missed her like hell. Every day, every night. Some days more than others.   
  
Some days her absence was a screaming abyss, other days were a silent mourning.   
  
And there hadn't been a single day when he hadn't thought about her.   
  
Time didn't heal all wounds. He'd never bought that. But the deepest wound could develop scar tissue. Sensitive, painful to touch.   
  
Having sex with any other woman had not even existed in his thoughts until that night. And yet he hadn't turned Julia down, hadn't even hesitated for a decent amount of time. Had enjoyed being with her. Not just a woman, but Julia.   
  
Had he betrayed Carrie? Or betrayed Julia because, of course, there had been a fleeting memory of Carrie in his mind and heart when it had been Julia in his arms.   
  
But still it had been Julia. He had known and deliberately chosen to let it happen, had actively engaged in it.   
  
It was no surrogate.   
  
But what was it then?   
  
Their final fight came to his mind but it wasn't that, he was sure of it. No, he wouldn't be in a relationship with Julia.   
  


They shared a friendship, a shared past, and a son. Their children considered themselves siblings. That was all. The fact that they were two widowed single-parents spending Christmas and holidays with one another was comfort. In fact, he was grateful. But no more.   
  


Well, that was some nice clusterfuck.   
  
He tried his best not to be too terse and brooding the next morning, but it was awkward.   
  
He and Frannie had planned to leave that day anyway as they were expected to be at a post-Christmas dinner with Maggie and Bill and the girls. He was glad when Frannie got over-excited and asked him to leave right after breakfast.   
  
Julia didn't look like she slept a lot either and he wondered how she felt. He knew there hadn't been anyone else in the years after her husband's death. 

  
And the strange thing was it didn't change a thing. They kept seeing each other with the kids, teenagers now, spending holidays together, sometimes a weekend. They took trips in the summer together, usually to a European city. They would both describe themselves as single and they were far from being in any other relationship. Simply this. A close friendship they'd rekindled and formed over years.   
  
But they slept together every now and then. And when they finally spoke about it they were both glad things were the way they were, not more not less.

_ *************** _ _  
_   
The list they'd made before Carrie’s death was still pinned to their fridge. Over the years he and Frannie did a lot of the things they'd written down.   
  
Sometimes they spoke about Carrie when crossing out an entry from the list.   
  
Frannie was fourteen when she asked him if he still missed her.   
  
"I do. Every day."   
  
"But it doesn't hurt so much anymore, does it?"   
  
"Not the same way, I guess."   
  
"It's not constant anymore. There are days when I don't miss her at all, Dad. Is that bad?"   
  
"No. That's not bad. Your mom wanted you to be happy. Not to spend your life grieving. She'd be very proud of you. And she'd know she's not forgotten."   
  
"I sometimes forget your weren't always here too."   
  
"You know, if you'd like to know more about your… father… I could tell you some things."   
  
"Did you know him?"   
  
"I met him, yes. But we didn't get along very well."   
  
She laughed, genuinely.   
  
"I guess that happens when two guys are after the same girl."   
  
It was at that precise moment he realized she wasn't a child anymore.   
  
She got up from her side of the kitchen counter, rounded the counter and hugged him.   
  
"Thanks for offering to tell me more. One day, maybe. But you're my dad. I guess Mom would be proud on both of us. I'd say we haven’t done too bad, did we?"   
  
Not for the first time he thought that he wasn't only staying around because he had given a promise. Carrie had left him a great and beautiful gift.

*****************   
  
Frannie decided to stay in Washington for college. She didn't even want to move out. Her only prerequisite was that she insisted on being allowed to have friends over without having to introduce them to him each and every time.   
  
"But I'll get to know anyone important, right?" he inquired.   
  
She laughed, reminding him that she had a big brother too.   
  
"You really think John will let me date any guy he hasn't seen before?"   
  
They were still a close, Frannie and John. John had recently moved into an apartment with his girlfriend close to the Georgetown campus.   
  
Dar retired the year Frannie started at Georgetown. And after nearly 30 years in the Agency Quinn became Director of Support.   
  
He'd never managed to leave the Agency and had come to the conclusion - and there was a lot of Carrie-wisdom in this - that being inside an organization was a better place to create change than being outside.   
  
"As if we'd let the Trumps of the world win," had been her words in her year with the then new President. Still, she herself left intelligence work after that but mainly driven by the need to provide a stable home for Frannie. She would have returned eventually.

******************   
  
Both his kids had enrolled in undergraduate programs with the Foreign Service, followed by John taking security studies for his postgrad. Frannie was toying with several ideas but she still had more than a year to make a decision.   
  
Once again, this time in the face of these passionate young adults, he was facing sharp-minded discussions and arguments over dinner - and he had to admit he loved it.   
  
Sometimes Frannie would visit him at the office for lunch or coffee, he'd gotten her a special security clearance from collegues and she was pleased to find out there were still were people at the CIA who remembered her mom. One day she suddenly scrutinized him over her coffee mug.   
  
"I can't believe it, but neither you or Mom ever told me how you met. All I know is that you moved in with us after you came home from the hospital."   
  
He'd never been more grateful for his secretary coming in and asking him to take the phone call from the Pentagon.   
  
But it was time to tell her.   
  
So he asked her to be home that night and prepared for a long night.   
  
They cooked dinner together and after doing the dishes - he'd never liked using the dishwasher - they sat in the living room and he spoke. For hours, actually, and Frannie just listened.   
  
When he'd finished they watched the video Carrie had recorded in the weeks before her death and he gave her the letter.   
  
Tears were involved for both of them.   
  
"Mom was an unusual woman, wasn't she?"   
  
"She was. Very unusual. The brightest and smartest person at the best of times. Irritating, nerve wracking and annoying at not-so-good times. She loved fiercely. And she was stubborn. And devoted to each and every task she committed herself to."   
  
"So she forced you back into life after Berlin."   
  
"She did. We so often missed each other before. Or weren't ready. Yeah, I think, looking back now, we just weren't ready."   
  
"Fate's a bitch for taking her so early."   
  
"Right. But she wasn't resentful. She said she had it all, all she ever could've asked for, for those few years."   
  
"And you? Are you resentful?"   
  
"Not anymore," he said, realizing it was the truth.

******************

One year they went to Mexico, Frannie, John, Julia and he. Somehow Quinn expected each vacation to be the last with both kids - and feared that moment - but each and every year they both wanted to come. 

They saw Chichen Itza, Palenque and Merida and were spending a few days at the beach.

As always they had separate rooms but he and Julia spent most nights together. Those vacations were about the family but he always looked forward to his time with Julia as well. They didn't want other arrangements for their day to day life, they still didn't want to go public with what they had or label it as, yeah, as what? But to spend two weeks with her, days and most nights, was good.

Frannie and John never commented on their parents leaving the restaurants after dinner and going for a glass of wine to the bar or one of their rooms' balconies. It was just what they always had done, during each and every trip.

The last night in Mexico he spent at her room, having slow and tender sex after two glasses of wine on her room's terrace. It always amazed him how much the woman she was today still reminded him of the girl he had met as a teenager nearly 35 years ago. 

"That was a wonderful vacation. You think John will still come along next year?"

"Who knows. Seems to be serious with his Hannah," he stretched his joints and pulled Julia closer again.

"I like her. She's a nice girl."

"A bit bossy, maybe?"

"He likes his woman strong. Like his father," she teased him.

"Will you still go on vacation with me when the kids aren't joining anymore?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Cause I wanna know."

"Would you still want me to go with you then?"

"Yeah… I want that. Jules. I know, I'm not the most...but I really enjoy what we have...so, yes."

"You believe in fate?"

"Not really, no."

"Me neither. But us being here together still has to be something more than just a random coincidence."

He preferred not to contemplate fate-related issues too thoroughly but still had an answer.

"You are anything but random to me. Remember the day we met? When offered me the chair next to you in the 10th grade? Even if we lost each other in between I'm glad I found you again and you let me back in. These last years...I couldn't have made it through the first months without your help. And now… there were long years when I thought I'd never say this again, but I am happy. With you. With the kids. You make me happy."

"That's a lot."

"Yeah, that's a lot."

They made love once more that night and it was exactly what it was, making love. He didn't return to his room that night, just stayed with her and silently went back before breakfast to change his clothes.

********************

  
  
John asked him out for dinner a few days before his wedding. That was unusual but not  unusual enough to get suspicious. Or maybe he was just getting old and didn't read the clues.   
  
"Don't you think it's time to share a room with mom all night when she's here?" he broke the news over coffee.   
  
He nearly spit his coffee over the table.   
  
"How do you know? Does your mother know we are having this conversation?"   
  
"It's not an interrogation. Frannie and I have known for years. Since the summer in Spain actually. And no, Mom doesn't know we're talking."   
  
"So you’ve known for-" he counted the years, "nine years, ten years, and never said a word?"   
  
He really was getting old.   
  
"Well," after feeling awkward at first John was visibly relaxing, "we get that you both decided there's just one major love of your lives. And even though it's always a bit difficult to explain our family to strangers, we've gotten used to it over the years. And I'd have said something earlier if I thought you make her unhappy..."   
  
"Would you?"   
  
"Of course."   
  
"But?"   
  
"You were both obviously happy or at least satisfied with what you have so there was no need to. But with my wedding coming up I thought it was time to put the cards on table. We're not asking you to move in with each other. But you're both getting too old to sneak around like teenagers."   
  
"Are we?"   
  
John managed to hold his father's glacial stare for quite a while before he broke away and Quinn was satisfied and amused by equal measure. He still could do it.   
  
But maybe his son was right. Maybe it was time for some adjustments.

******************

When John and Hannah took their vows he glanced at Julia. Of course her eyes were wet. That was the boy she'd raised and now he was a man. And most of the way she'd done it alone, Alexander had just been around for a few precious years and he… well, he hoped he'd made up for his absence all those years back. 

So he took her hand and when she squeezed back he raised it to his lips and kissed it, mouthing a silent, "thank you."

When leaving the church he didn't let go of her hand. Neither did she.

He thought of Carrie's words about finding love. He wondered if she'd sensed it might be Julia. Maybe. Her hunches had always been famous. But he was sure she'd approve his choice.

After their wedding dance John asked his mother for the next dance and Hannah asked him with a happy smile. He had made his peace with her, Julia had been right, in the end he liked strong-minded women. And she made his son happy. Afterwards he danced with Julia, and kissed her temple just above her ear.

"You mind people seeing us?" Quinn asked.

"No, actually I came to realize I don't."

"Good. Me neither. Mind if I kiss the groom's mother now?"

"Go for it. She's hot. For a mid fifties," Julia quipped.

"She is. She was already hot when she was sixteen. So is the groom's father."

"I always liked men in a tux. Although the groom's father was more of an angry young man back then instead of being a hottie, and a tux was not his style."

"He was. But he grew out of it. Of being angry."

Fran came to the bar when he went to get drinks and went tippytoe to kiss his cheek.

"What's that for?"

"For being brave."

"Aha. I've been accused of many things in my life. Lack of bravery wasn't among them."

But the corners of his eyes crinkled with his smile.

"C'mon, Dad. You know what it's about."

"Yeah. It’s okay for you?"

"It's not that I didn't knew it for quite a while. For a spy you did a pretty shitty job in covering the evidence. I'm happy. For both of you," and then after a beat, "Mom too, I think. She didn't want you to be alone. She'll be having a bottle with Grandpa tonight, up there."

"I was never really alone after her. I had you. But I guess you're right."

She hugged him tightly and then skulked away, finding her boyfriend among John's friends.

 

***********************

  
  
He and Julia didn't move in together. Neither of them wanted that. But they shared a room during vacations now and saw each other more often on weekends, even without the kids.

 

*********************

  
  
He crossed out the last entry on the now twenty-year-old list on the morning of Frannie's wedding. She'd moved out two years ago. But he saw her nearly every day, either for coffee or lunch, at the office as she was a junior analyst now. People said she was brilliant but not as crazy as her mom. And not as reckless as her dad. Well, Rob said that, with a smile.   
  
She returned home the night before her wedding.   
  
He heard her getting up at 5am and got up too, joining her in the kitchen and making coffee and pancakes for her.   
  
After finishing her plate she got up and got the list from the fridge, grease-stained and with a lot of creases. Twenty years.   
  
"We've made it. Each and every entry."   
  
"We did. Just that last one."   
  
"Walking me down the aisle."   
  
She teared up and if his eyes weren't completely dry neither of them commented on it as he put an arm around her shoulder and she leant in.   
  
"You wanna tick that box?"   
  
"No, you have to do that. It’s your job."   
  
While he did she looked at him, sipping her coffee.   
  
"That list was emotional blackmail, wasn't it?"   
  
"Yeah, your mom was good at that. I've never seen a better operative in my life."   
  
"I take it you won't leave now?"   
  
"No. I guess I'll stick around for a few more years. At least I hope so. I think I get to hope for grandchildren now."

  
She just smiled and hugged him again.

  
On Fran's request they went to the cemetary at 8 a.m., after picking up her bridal bouquet. She'd ordered two, one to put on Carrie's grave.   
  
She was a beautiful bride. And he thought back to that day twenty years ago, when he had married Carrie in that lighthouse. Her wedding band had been on her nightstand all those years.   
  
But he'd taken it to a jeweler a few weeks ago. It held a diamond now and was on Fran's ringfinger. It was her mom's wedding present to her daughter.   
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading until the end. 
> 
>  
> 
> I hope you believe me now when I say it is first and foremost a story about love. I'd be glad if you'd let me know your thoughts, either here or via LJ.


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